No Ticket for Charlie
by Squirrela
Summary: What happens when Charlie doesn't discover a golden ticket (Wilder Wonka).


No Ticket for Charlie.

This lengthy Wilder Wonka Oneshot is based on the premise that Charlie never found the ticket, and another child went in in his place. This child, Carla, was the granddaughter of the candy store owner Bill, who was polite, but frankly, otherwise uninterested in chocolate. It will dodge between Willy's point of view, and the experiences of Charlie.

* * *

Willy Wonka sat at his desk, wondering what he was going to do now. He needed to find an heir. But there was no one out there, who would fit the bill. His last great idea for the ticket hunt had generated lots of revenue – so much so, that even the damage done by the children on the tour yesterday wasn't going to eat into that extra capital, but the greatest gain of all hadn't been realised.

The first four tour children had set Willy shivering with disgust. Their manners were atrocious, and he couldn't imagine any of them being exactly a good steward of the factory, or caring for the Oompa Loompa's when he was gone. The fifth child, Carla, had left him utterly uninspired. Oh, she was a good girl, but completely uninterested in candy. She'd been unimpressed by the chocolate room. "I like Dairymilk and Haribo's better!" she informed him when he asked why she wasn't tasting anything. Willy had shrugged his shoulders, those manufacturers weren't on his hit list, so it didn't really matter if his heir preferred those chocolates. She'd then refused an everlasting gobstopper, telling him that she'd be sure to lose it, and it would become nasty so she couldn't eat it. She had no use for candy that never got any smaller – she could have chocolate whenever she wanted it.

Like her grandfather Bill, who had accompanied her, she was perfectly polite, well behaved, and listened, but at the end of the tour, when he began to talk to her about the lifetime supply of chocolate, she had turned to him with a smile. "Oh! No thank you Mr Wonka. My Grandfather Bill gives me all the candy and chocolate I could ever want. I'm just grateful that you gave me the chance to see inside this wonderful place. When Grandfather brought the three bars of chocolate home last night, and told me what you'd said to him about the five special bars you'd given him for any special children that came along, and that I was to have any that were left over, I was so thrilled that you'd thought of me. And then, one of those bars happened to have the ticket in it. I was amazed. I hadn't expected to get a ticket. I've really enjoyed the day, but I couldn't take any more from you. Thank you very much."

With that, both she and Bill had shaken Willy's hand, and exited the building, leaving him feeling deflated and empty. All of that trouble, for nothing. It had been torture to invite the Public into his factory, to feel them judging his imagination, and the way he did things, and not one of them was a kindred spirit. Not one of them valued things as he did.

There had to be someone who would though. Somewhere in this huge wide world, there would be someone special, someone hidden away somewhere who would fit the bill. Then he jumped! There was! He hurried to his small personal file space, and opened it. Inside he kept his treasures. Every year without fail for the last five years he had received a handmade Christmas card. It was sent by someone who lived nearby. The person obviously didn't have a lot of money to spare as the materials were somewhat crude. Willy guessed that the person who did them had to be at least fifteen years old, as although the designs and abilities showed distinct improvement every year, the quality of the cards were pretty good. Willy doubted that the child was any younger than ten when they began to make them, and had maybe been a good deal older.

As he was examining the cards, letting his heart be warmed by the fact that a child cared enough to personally design a stranger a Christmas card, he heard a knock at the door. It was James, his personal assistant. "This must have been delivered late last night Mr Wonka." The man stated, handing over a familiar looking, obviously homemade envelope. "Also, your three O'clock appointment is here." He finished. Willy would have looked at his watch, but didn't need to. It was nowhere near three O'clock, being the morning. "Today?" he asked in surprise. "But it's not a school day!" he exclaimed.

Willy guessed that his three o'clock appointment, as they always called him, was about eight years old. He certainly didn't look any older than that. The boy would stop every day on his way home from school and simply linger around the factory gates. Recently it was closer to four o'clock that the boy arrived, but it made no difference, he would spend at least five minutes lingering at the gates. And then, long before anyone from the factory could approach him, he was gone. Disappearing off round the side of the building, into the shanty town that sheltered in the shadow of the walls at the back of the factory.

Willy had been aware of the boy for the last year. He had tried many different ways to give the boy something. While Willy realised he needed a lot more than chocolate, he knew the boy must really love it to wait around outside in the cold, just smelling the scents that the factory pumped out into the outside world.

This time, Willy was determined not to miss him. "James, you go out the side gate and invite our young guest in. I'm going to look at this." So saying he carefully opened the envelope and pulled out three A4 drawings. One was of the crowd of people that had gathered outside the factory. The artist had clearly caught the features of a few people – Willy immediately recognised James in his disguise as Arthur Slugworth. The five ticket winners and their parents were also clearly captured, alongside an air of anticipation.

The second page was of the factory itself, door firmly closed. The factory was lit up in lights, and you could again see the anticipation on the few members of the crowd who were waiting, eyes focussed on the door to the factory.

Finally, there was a close up of the gates, with Wonka himself standing, arms open wide, welcoming everyone in. Pale blue eyes sparkling, and a degree of surprise on his face as he took in just how many people were waiting outside. Those same eyes widened in surprise again as he took in that detail – he hadn't thought anyone would have caught that expression, but it seemed he was wrong.

Then he noticed a last slip of paper. "Dear Mr Wonka." It said. "I wanted to write and thank you for all you have done for the town by having your ticket competition.

"Even though so many children here were disappointed not to actually find one, the whole town has prospered from the influx of visitors, who came in to see the amazing spectacle of the Wonka factory being opened for ten lucky visitors.

"Despite our disappointment, who could help but love the carnival atmosphere that enveloped the area as they waited to go in?

"I can only be sorry that it seems the day wasn't as enjoyable for you… I hope that the pictures I have sent you possibly bring a smile. Maybe, some day in the future, I shall draw some of my own imaginings down – things that I imagined when I pretended that I had found a ticket, and was one of the lucky ones who was able to visit the factory. Possibly updated with any details that Carla's friends pass round the wider school community.

"Thank you once again, for everything.

"Best Wishes. C."

Wonka stared at the note. For the first time ever, his mystery gift giver had signed his work. It was only an initial, but it was better than nothing.

Taking it carefully, he gently slipped it, and the cards he had been looking at when James brought the envelope, back into the precious file cabinet, and then he turned to the fireplace. "Sampa!" he called down it. Two minutes later an Oompa Loompa head floated up into the space a fire would be placed. "Yes Willy?" She asked.

Willy handed her the three sheets of paper. "Please frame these and hang them in the entrance hall." She accepted the pictures with a cheery "Right away Willy" and the next instant Willy was gazing at an empty fireplace again.

A moment later, there was another knock at the door and James looked round it. Willy raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Missed him again" James reported, shaking his head sadly. "It's like he senses us coming and disappears.

Willy smiled at his friend, despite his disappointment. "I think next time we have a chance, when we're not up to our eyes in preparing for Christmas as we will be from tomorrow on. Then, you don't come and tell me, you just go and get him."

James understood instantly. It wasn't that his boss was too busy for the young boy, it was simply that the way the factory got in the last few months leading up to Christmas was no environment for a small boy. Willy had hoped that one of the two children he had connections to in the town would find the ticket, as that was the simplest way of finding them – especially the older one who sent the cards. "Do we still continue with project Chocolate Box?" he asked his employer expectantly. "OH yes of course. Not that he's ever taken the chocolate, but we must keep trying!" Even putting a note on the box that said it was for the young boy who came past the factory on his way home from school each day hadn't enticed him into picking it up.

And then the factory had launched the golden ticket exchange, and Wonka hadn't wanted to raise up the hopes of anyone by continuing to put chocolate out there, so he'd reluctantly stopped the project. Now, despite the Christmas rush being almost upon them, it was time to begin that project again. At least until he thought up something better. If only he knew the boys name.

Charlie sat panting in the small curtained off corner of the shack that he called his own. He'd almost been caught once again. He didn't need someone else telling him off for being rude. He got enough of that at school every day. He hoped that Mr Wonka liked his pictures. He'd tried especially hard with them, using his best paper. He'd even found some scraps of pencils he could use, instead of cheap crayons. He'd never want the factory owner to know just how disappointed he was in not getting to go. The evening before the tour he'd cried until he fell asleep. And then, in the morning, as if nothing had happened, he went out into the strange and unusual crowd outside the factory, and had let himself enjoy the atmosphere as if he'd been one of the lucky ones himself.

The man selling ice creams had asked if he'd wanted one, and he'd felt a brief bitter sting at having to say 'no'. He couldn't afford one of those, much as he might like one. Instead, Charlie had gazed upon all the exciting and unusual happenings. He didn't want to miss an instant of it. He couldn't help but laugh in excitement as the crowd around him were enjoying the various treats on offer – both of the consumable variety, and of things to do – such as a huge merry go round with brightly coloured horses. How that fitted in, Charlie wasn't sure. The brass band also gained his attention for a while.

His eyes swept across the lucky ticket finders, noting Carla and her grandfather Bill. Carlie laughed slightly disdainfully. She'd tossed her head at school, and told them all that Candy wasn't that special. Charlie thought that when ones Grandfather owned a candy store, one might have the luxury of calling it boring! And yet, there she was, sat with the other ticket winners.

Just then, the clock tower struck ten, and every eye immediately swivelled to the gate and the forbiddingly shut door. Now was the time. Time weighed heavily, as the seconds seemed to lengthen into minutes, and then, finally, the door creaked open, revealing emptiness behind it.

Suddenly a figure appeared in it. Charlie drank in the image, knowing that this was as close as he was ever likely to get to his hero. Looking back, it amazed Charlie the details he had taken in – things like the compassionate pale blue eyes. Charlie had never seen eyes that shade of blue before.

The way the man had presented himself with a walking stick, and moved as if injured, had intrigued Charlie. Doubly so when he showed that he didn't need it. Charlie now wondered if the physical limp he had displayed was actually a symbolism for an emotional hurt he carried that he was now trying to dispel. His Mom had shaken her head at him when he voiced this, and told him off for being 'fanciful'. "Mr Wonka was simply playing to the crowds" she informed her son sharply. In her opinion, Charlie cared far too much about the factory and the ticket competition, and it was now time for him to let it go. He'd been hurt too much by this competition, he should just let his hero worship of the man go.

Not getting any satisfaction from his Mom, Charlie had decided to retreat to his room, where he could draw pictures and imagine that he was on the tour. Mom had always said he had a photographic memory, and he called on every detail of this that he could when it came to drawing the various scenes he had witnessed, while waiting for Mr Wonka to appear. Charlie hadn't stayed long enough to see the man welcome his visitors, that would have been too much for his young boyish heart to take. He couldn't stay and witness it, not when he'd longed to be allowed into the factory every day he could remember passing the factory. He had imagined being invited in for tea there when he was passing, and that guilty thought had spurred his heels whenever he got the sense that someone from the factory was watching him, or might be about to approach. He hoped that they hadn't noticed him. That he might be an object of interest to the inhabitants never crossed his mind. He was simply certain that they would tell him off if they ever caught him.

He then went on to draw pictures of his own imagined visit. Not pictures of the mundane factory machinery though, oh no. His drawings were far more imaginative than that! He drew one picture of giant jelly toads. Toads that were twice the size of a man. Toads that spat out different colours of liquid if one jumped on their back. The liquid sprayed out into buckets that collected it, and tasted of jelly sweets. This, Charlie was sure, was how Wonka had to collect the flavourings for his jelly candy. Charlie drew himself up on one of the toads, having great fun as he had a turn at one of the factory jobs. He also drew one of Carla, looking very bored, as she twirled a handle on a mannequin's head, only to have it sprout full of strawberry laces! The other two girls on the tour had impressed looks on their faces, and were reaching out to grab the lace, only to have Wonka slap the back of their hands reprovingly. Mike and Augustus looked as bored as if even candy that came sprouting out of a dolls head was totally uninteresting.

The boys seemed far more interested in the next picture Charlie drew. Tanks, just the right size for the boys to drive, had a black liquid put inside, and as they drove along, this solidified onto the runners and left a black liquorish concoction on the specially prepared factory flooring in its wake.

Charlie drew himself at the controls, with Mr Wonka at his side, explaining how things worked, and the other children looking on in eager anticipation, behind some barriers. Charlie was sure that any child would love to work in a factory that worked like this, especially if it was making candy!

At that point in time Charlie had drawn one more picture. A giant mud pool, made of chocolate. In this mud pool there were five giant mechanical hippos. The hippo's feet moved up and down, churning the mousse type chocolate filling that would make its way into Wonka chocolate whip delight bars. Unable to help himself, Charlie drew Augustus, with one hand buried deep in the chocolate whip, and the other having smeared a handful all over his face - much to the horror of Wonka and the other children. All the while, his mother beamed proudly at him.

Then, unable to think of anything else, Charlie drew himself at the door to the factory, saying 'goodbye' to Willy. For some reason, he felt unable to draw himself shaking hands with the famous chocolatier, instead, he found himself drawing the man down on one knee, Charlie pulled into his embrace and snuggling into his arms. For all this, you could see both of their faces were lit up with a smile of pure pleasure. Charlie knew it would never happen, but he couldn't help but draw it like that. "Yes" he thought. "That would be the perfect end if I were to have visited the factory today."

Then, with dinner time approaching, he carefully put his art supplies away, and formed an envelope for the three that he felt he could give to Wonka. He'd heard enough of the departing crowds chatter through the thin walls of their hut to know that things weren't going well on the tour, and he hoped that he might be able to make the man feel better, and that all his efforts hadn't been wasted if he gave some of his drawings to him. A little like the Christmas cards he'd got in the habit of giving the recluse, Charlie wanted to do something nice for him. At this point, he didn't think he could give the man any of his imaginings, but… Well, he would like to give him something.

With his Mom's voice echoing after him, in a warning not to stay out too long, as it was getting dark, Charlie slipped round to the front of the factory and he carefully posted his efforts through the letter box, and then, promising himself he'd come and spend some time at the gates in the morning, he returned back to his little house, a few minutes' walk around the back of the building.

The following morning, Charlie found himself drawn to the factory so strongly, he couldn't help but head out there as soon as he had finished his breakfast. At first he sat in the hollow that was in the wall across from the factory, simply observing everything, but then, drawn like a moth to a flame, he found himself at the gates, remembering what it had been like the day before. The red carpet was long since rolled away, the crowds had dissipated into nothing, and he was staring in through the bars, wishing himself inside them.

Suddenly his longing evaporated, as he heard the sound of a door opening somewhere, he must not be discovered! With that impulse he found himself flying round the side of the building and back home, startling his grandparents as he passed them. His Mom was already out at her job at the laundrette, so there was no one to disturb him when, to calm down the beating of his heart, he pulled out his art supplies again.

This time he started with the picture of another fanciful room. Orange Fireflies. Candies with enough 'oomph' to them that they flew round in a circle once and then landed on the tongue of the person who had plucked them out of the bag. Charlie drew all of the children inside the room, which was in darkness, but for an orange glow. Each child's mouth was shut, and glowing orange, except for Charlie's – he was laughing, with a firefly just laid to rest on his tongue. Mr Wonka also had his mouth closed, but there was no glow coming from him. Instead, two or three of the fireflies had stuck to his face. Charlie put a note below this one "Mr Wonka hated to eat the orange fireflies as he felt they really could be a living creature. His invention was too lifelike for him."

Then Charlie stopped. His drawing had relaxed him as he had hoped it would. For the moment, that as enough. He didn't want to use his art supplies up too quickly. Mom may give him a few pence a week from the money he earned delivering papers, but that didn't go very far when it came to materials, and if he used it all up now, he'd soon be back to drawing on old cereal packets and using his broken crayons. Especially as he'd have to start saving up for Christmas gifts for his family.

It hadn't taken long for Carla's stories about the factory to filter through to him. He was immediately seized with the desire to draw some of the scene's she had apparently talked about. Augustus in the river, and little men with orange skin and green hair on the other side. The blue little girl having blown into a blueberry, the funny little men rolling her away, having tried some experimental gum. The little girl on the eggdicator, going down the garbage chute. Tiny Mike on the TV screen. And one of prim little Carla, properly shaking Mr Wonka's hand as she said 'good bye'. These images in particular caught his fancy, though he also loved the thought of Wonka sitting in a lovely land of green and flowers and hills, sipping on a flower, and then eating it. He'd have to do that one as well.

Charlie quickly decided he would give three pictures to Mr Wonka every second week for the next nine weeks. The first week would be the two new images of Augustus in the river, and Mr Wonka having his flower, and one of Charlie's own imaginings – possibly the jelly toads. The third week he'd give Mr Wonka the picture of blueberry Violet, and the fireflies picture he'd done the day before, as well as the dolls head. The fifth week he'd give the new picture he had to do of Verucca, the tank picture, and a close up of the Oompa Loompa's dancing as they sang one of their songs. The seventh week would have to be Mike, the chocolate hippo, and something out of his own imagined tour… Caterpillar cellophane wrapping perhaps? As for the last week, the picture he'd drawn of himself saying 'goodbye' the one he'd just imagined of Carla, also saying goodbye, and an image of Willy Wonka and many of the Oompa Loompa's at the door to the chocolate room, waving goodbye. That would take them practically up to Christmas itself. He would then have to make a Christmas card for Mr Wonka as he usually did.

Charlie noted his plans down in his note book, so that he wouldn't forget, and then he continued on with his day. He would do two of his new pictures every Saturday, hopefully that way, even with having to save for Christmas, he'd manage to keep his art supplies stocked up as well.

The months leading up to Christmas at the factory were always incredibly busy. Wonka barely found time to raise an eyebrow at James each evening, a silent query as to whether his 'three o'clock appointment' had taken any of the chocolate they religiously left outside the gate shortly after schools let out. Each time, the query was answered with a shake of the head, and both men would sigh sadly. The boy was looking colder each time he came now, and often had to leave after a bare minute of gazing wistfully out at the factory. The frozen, snowy ground must chill his feet inside those worn shoes, and his threadbare jacket could hardly provide him with any warmth. Were it not far too cold for the Oompa Loompa's out there, he'd have sent one of them to follow him home, so that they could give him warmer clothing. Unfortunately, any Oompa Loompa he sent out there would likely freeze to death within minutes. And James was even busier than Willy was, if that could be believed.

Willy still remembered his joy when, two weeks after the first package, James had rushed in with another. His artist friend had kept their promise. He pulled out another three sheets of paper. The first image to confront his eyes was so lifelike Willy could hardly believe the person who drew it hadn't been there. It was Willy himself, sprawled out under one of the trees in the chocolate room, minty green marshmallow hills rolling out behind him, and a bright yellow Mango flower in his hand. Looking at the picture, Willy could almost taste the delicious confection.

Putting that picture down, his nose wrinkled in disgust at the sight of what had to be Augustus, splashing around in the chocolate river. Willy was so relieved that couldn't happen again. Then his eyes landed on the row of Oompa Loompa's. For a person who had never seen an Oompa Loompa, they were drawn so clearly Wonka was impressed. The detail of the chocolate waterfall was also stunningly accurate. Were it not for Augustus, spoiling the scene, Willy would have loved the picture.

The third one he turned to made him freeze. There was nothing in the factory like that. Glancing down he spotted the writing at the bottom. "Tour children invited to have some fun with large gum toads that spit gummy sweet flavoured fillings into buckets." Centre stage, not seen terribly clearly, was a sandy haired boy that Willy was certain had not been on the tour. Then he remembered. He swiftly got up and went to his personal file cabinet, pulling out the note that "C" had written.

This then, was one of the things that his artistic friend had imagined when thinking of a factory tour. Willy turned to the fireplace again. "Sampa!" he called out dictatorially. Soon the little Oompa Loompa rose out of the fire. "Yes Willy?" she asked him, as she always did. "Please put these two pictures up in the hallway with the others, then come back." He instructed her. She accepted the two pieces of paper he handed her, and disappeared, leaving him staring at the third one.

Five minutes later she was back. "What next Willy?" she asked him, pulling him out of his dwam. "Ah, good, Sampa! I would like you to take this picture to Ereshke, and ask him to turn one of the failed invention rooms into this. Possibly the moss flies room. Then you can put the picture up outside it." Sampa looked carefully at her employer. He had an air to him of repressed excitement. Something she had not seen in him in months. He must have got a good idea from somewhere. Then she looked down at the paper in her hands. This would certainly have done it, she concluded! She quickly agreed that she would do so, and was off, leaving Willy alone with his thoughts.

He really had to find his artist friend. Though he didn't knew it, he was already contributing to the life of the factory, generating ideas, and would be an ideal apprentice. Willy only hoped that whenever he found them, the artist would agree. It would be typical if they were just waiting on being accepted into Art College or similar.

After thinking a short while longer about it, Willy looked up to realise that James had re-joined him and the two of them were once again up to their eyes in work, the two 'friends' and the various concerns relating to them on the back burner again for the moment.

A full fortnight went by, again with no luck in encouraging the small boy to take either chocolate, or warmer clothing left out specifically for him, and another package arrived. Another three pictures, another shudder of disgust, before two that made him laugh with delight and call for two rooms to be prepared for new ideas. While the blueberry picture was put with the other pictures, the excitement of being given new ideas was something he'd never dreamed about. "Tanks that turn ingredients that are fed in as if petrol into liquorish strips via their treads. That's more ingenious than a taffy puller!" he exclaimed. Then he turned to the next page and laughed again at the information that "Mr Wonka refused to eat the fireflies as they seemed too real!" That was exactly what had happened in the 'Oompa-De' room – Oompa De's had been made of orange rock, with green marshmallow hair. When music turned on they danced around, much like the Oompa Loompa's did when something struck them as funny or silly. Inside the rock was a gooey raspberry filling, something Willy had been told was delicious. Willy didn't care – they looked far too much like the Oompa Loompa's and moved. That was far too realistic for him! He'd refused to eat one, much to the amusement of everyone else in the factory.

A few days later, Willy was getting concerned – his three O'clock appointment hadn't turned up at the gates. Was the boy unwell? Not being able to do anything about it, Willy threw himself into his work. Christmas was getting ever closer, and the shops were demanding he send them double the usual quantity of Christmas type delights. As well as this, he wanted to move the inventing process on, so that the three rooms his artistic friend had suggested could be incorporated. He loved how the sandy haired boy appeared in each picture. That boy looked familiar, but Wonka couldn't quite place him. He was blurred just enough that his features were undefinable. He wondered if the boy was his artist friend, made to look around the same age as the other children on the tour. If one was drawing pictures of a fantasy, one could look however one chose, he reasoned.

Then, three weeks went slowly by, and no more pictures. Were both of his friends unwell? Thankfully, he spotted a well wrapped up (for once) three o'clock appointment hurrying past the factory the following morning. He was sure to be teased, as the clothing was obviously much taken in clothing that must have belonged to someone at least twice his age, twenty years before, but the boy should at least be a little warmer.

This time, at promptly three O'clock, the boy once again passed the gates. A trifle slower than he had in the morning, hand lingering longingly on the bars, wistful face once again turned towards the building as he walked past, then he turned and coughed harshly into his coat sleeve, hand buried deep inside it. Had he lost the job that had meant he hadn't arrived back so quickly due to illness, or as it simply that he wasn't fit enough to do the job. As much as Willy and James wanted to help him, they could hardly invite him into the factory – at almost November they were in one of their busiest periods, and it would be difficult to stop his current germs spreading through the factory. They would have to wait. The burden of concern weighed heavily on Willy though, as he dispiritedly trudged back to his work.

Charlie wasn't feeling any happier. He'd developed a terrible cold, which he had then managed to pass onto his grandparents. As he got a little better, he found himself staying home and looking after them all, as best he could. His Mom had managed to escape the bug, and she still needed to work long hours at the laundry, doubly so because Mr Jopeck had reluctantly had to give his job to another boy who was almost as desperate as he was, and hadn't got sick due to the cold. Even inside the house, Charlie could barely stop shivering. And he hadn't been allowed to go out to deliver his pictures to the factory. He hoped he would be well enough soon.

When he got a little better, Charlie had drawn the rest of his pictures. He'd eventually run out of his nice pencils, and with the loss of his job had been unable to replace them, so he'd resorted to using his old crayons for some of the new ones. He wasn't as satisfied with them as the pencil drawings, but he guessed that it would have to do. His grandpa Joe said he had done a credible job of it, so he guessed they must at least be recognisable.

When she got a little better, Grandma Josephine had insisted on taking in some of his fathers' old clothing for him to wear. Feeling deeply embarrassed, Charlie had begged her not to, but she had been relentless, pointing out that being fashionable was nothing as important as his health. Charlie had only just withheld a snort. Being fashionable? He'd never been fashionable in his life. He just didn't like looking like a drowned puppy in his clothes. Still, he did have to admit that they were warmer than his own.

When he hurried back from school that first day, cheeks flushed both from the cold, and from the mortification he'd suffered, she'd patted his cheek comfortingly, and told him that he was a 'good boy'. While the day had been harder than any he had experienced for a while, Charlie couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for his grandmother, who was only trying to do her best for him after all.

It took a further three weeks for him to be better enough that he was able to go outside for anything but school. Finally, one Sunday his Mom let him out for five minutes, so he could resume his wait at the factory. She honestly couldn't see what he saw in the place, but she reluctantly agreed that as it meant so much to him, he could go and stand at the gates for five minutes.

Knowing he was way behind schedule in his picture deliveries, he packaged the rest of them up, hesitating slightly over the one of him saying 'goodbye' to Wonka. Dare he really send it? On impulse, he included it in the package, and swiftly went out and posted it through the box before he had second thoughts on the matter. He wanted to stay and look at the factory, but the moment he'd posted it he regretted his impulsive decision, and flushing in embarrassed mortification, he found himself running for home. What would the man think of him?

Ellie looked up in surprise at his swift return. "That was quick!" she commented. "Are you sure you were well enough?" she asked in concern, noticing his red face. "Just hot running up the hill Mom." He told her quickly. She looked at him sharply, there wasn't any hills for him to run up. "Why don't you go lie down Charlie, and I'll check on you later on?" Glad of the reason to withdraw, Charlie swiftly headed to his part of the cabin.

Wonka was up to his eyes in what he hoped would be the last of the pre-Christmas rush. December was fast approaching now. Just then, James poked his head round the door… "We thought we saw your three O'clock appointment at the gate, but if he was, he was gone before anyone could register him." He admitted regretfully. Willy looked down in disappointment. Though they often saw the lad hurrying by, he never stopped just now. It would have been a relief to have him linger a little again.

"In better news…" James trailed off, holding out an obviously homemade envelope. The quality was getting worse, this one obviously having been an old, much battered, cereal packet. Wonka tentatively held out his hand and took it from James. "Come and look at the contents with me James?" he asked. James smiled in relief. "I'd love to, thanks Willy."

This time there were a bumper crop of pictures – nine altogether. The artist had left a note, explaining that he'd been unable to deliver his pictures in recent weeks as he had been unwell, and didn't have warm enough clothing to brave the current weather conditions, so he was sending them the rest of his pictures all at once. The artlessness of this admission caused a surge of fondness in both men. Willy suddenly grasped James' arm and pointed to the bottom of the note – in his confusion or ill health, the artist had forgotten that he didn't sign his notes, they actually had a name. His artist was called 'Charlie'.

Then they looked at the various pictures. Some of them had obviously been drawn with superior writing materials than others, the return of crayons causing an obvious difference in the quality, though Willy acknowledged that the artist showed great skill for all that he used an obviously inexpensive kind of wax to show them. The image of Augustus in the hippo pool room caused Willy to wrinkle his nose in disgust. "How did he know!?" Willy asked James. James laughed at him. "It didn't take much to know that that brat would eat anything in front of him Willy!" he pointed out.

The picture Verruca on the eggdicator was passed with little comment, though it was put aside, along with the ones of tiny little Mike, and that self-absorbed granddaughter of Bill's. They would go on the entrance hall wall soon enough. The other pictures Charlie had drawn from his own imagination were swiftly put to the side, for later development in the factory. The Oompa Loompa's were as keen as the men were to put some of Charlie's ideas into production.

Willy was gazing fondly at a crayon version of himself, standing in the chocolate room, surrounded by waving Oompa Loompa's. This one could go in the hallway as well. Suddenly he was drawn out of his enjoyment by an astonished exclamation from James. "It's your three O'clock appointment!" he stated. Willy looked at him strangely. "How can you know he's at the factory gates – we can't see him from here!" he pointed out. James sent him a strangely disturbed look. "No, not out there, here!" he exclaimed. "Come see this Willy." He finished, holding out the drawing he was looking at.

Slowly, uncomprehendingly, Willy crossed the floor and took the delicate pencil drawing from James. Looking at it, he gasped. James was right. If the artist was drawing himself in his pictures, his artist, Charlie, had to be his 'three o'clock appointment'. For the first time the boy was drawn in with features that could be easily seen and recognised. Willy's eyes softened into gentleness as he saw the pose that Charlie had drawn them in. He so longed to hold the little boy like that in reality, to comfort him.

James looked up, a hint of sorrow in his tones. "He obviously cares about you a lot Willy, if he can draw that picture of you both as an image to finish off his factory tour. Looking at it, he's used the same materials as he did those first pictures he sent us, so he must have drawn it as part of that series, before he spoke with that young Carla brat, who doesn't like candy!"

Willy looked up at James. "My thoughts precisely my friend." He admitted. "And we cannot let another week go by without inviting Charlie in here. If you have to be practically standing at the gates waiting for him to get here tomorrow to achieve it, that's what you'll do!"

Willy quickly sorted out the pictures, telling Sampa to put the pictures of events that had happened, plus the one of him and the Oompa Loompa's on the entrance hall walls with the others. Charlie's latest ideas pictures were to join the rest of his pictures, in adding to the things that the factory wanted to produce. Then, holding onto the last picture he turned to her. "As for this one, I want it framed and put on my desk in my office." He told her. That picture he wanted where he could see it regularly. Right in the inner sanctum of the factory. "In fact, copy it, and put the copy on my sitting room table as well please."

Once the Oompa Loompa had left the office, the two men fell into planning just how they would get Charlie inside the building the following day.

The day after he had left the last of his pictures at the Wonka factory was a Monday. Charlie hated Mondays. It was always the hardest day at school. Everyone resented the loss of the weekend, and therefore, trying for as much fun as possible, teased him twice as much. There were some days he wondered why he bothered going to school. Even the teachers seemed to have it in for him. He never really understood what he'd done wrong – especially when he was in Mr Turkentines class.

No longer having his paper round, Charlie waited for the bell to ring, and slowly dragged himself home. He couldn't stand the idea of passing Bill's candy store any more. The way Bill's granddaughter had acted about the factory, coupled with the fact that it was his direct route to his paper round, which he had lost, meant that he didn't want to go near the place – he'd likely end up in tears if he did.

Thankfully, the wind was less bitter than it had been, and his nasty cough had finally gone. Charlie allowed himself to linger at the gates of the factory for one minute rather than the usual five. He was just turning to go on his way, hand resting gently on the bars of the gate, when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. "Charlie." The unfamiliar voice, calling his name made him freeze. How could a stranger know his name?

"Mr Wonka loves the pictures you drew, and is longing to meet you." The voice informed him, as another hand came down on his other shoulder, gently drawing him around to face the man. Then one of the hands lifted, and gently landed underneath his chin, pulling his head up. Not that Charlie could see him any better than before, as his eyes were flooded with tears that were starting to trickle down his cheeks. He'd never meant to be caught, and this happening so unexpectedly had overwhelmed him. He didn't want to face Mr Wonka. Surely he couldn't like the pictures as much as all that?

Suddenly, Charlie felt his cheeks being dried by a soft handkerchief, and the next thing he knew, the strange man was rubbing his back, and drawing him into his arms to give him a quick hug. "Can I show you the side gate into the factory?" the man asked. Knowing very well that he wasn't going to get away from the man now, Charlie shrugged his shoulders, and found himself gently lead to a gate he'd never really noticed before. "I can't tell you how many times I've got this far, just to discover that you've disappeared." The man informed him, leading him through the gate.

Strangely, the gate didn't open into the court yard – before they were half way through it, the man had turned Charlie to the side, and they went in through a door in the wall. As if that wasn't strange enough, they then travelled through numerous passages, until they reached an area where there was a door to the outside. Suddenly, Charlie noticed some of his drawings were on a wall there. "This is our entrance hall Charlie." The man informed him. "Mr Wonka decided it would be nice to have your pictures of what actually happened on the tour put here."

Feeling a little braver, Charlie turned to him and asked. "I'm sorry, but who are you?" The man blushed. "My apologies Charlie, I was so busy worrying about what would happen if I didn't manage to meet you, that I quite forgot to introduce myself!" He exclaimed. "I'm James Wilkenson, personal assistant to Willy Wonka."

Charlie looked down at the floor. "Oh!" he said, unable to think of a response to that. His brain was whirring away, and he hardly took in anything that Mr Wilkenson was saying, as he suddenly realised that the only pictures Mr Wonka had displayed here were the ones that were of things he'd been told had happened. Mr Wonka must hate the things he'd imagined. And as for the one where Charlie said 'goodbye' to him… Suddenly the tears began to flow again. And a moment later Mr Wilkensons voice broke in on him. "Speaking of whom, here he is!" Whereupon Charlie felt those insistent fingers underneath his chin again, pulling his tearstained face up to the scrutiny of the man He admired so much. Charlie couldn't imagine a worse situation.

Thankfully, Willy understood exactly how he'd be feeling, and the next instant he was swept into the man's arms, as he broke down fully. The much embarrassed boy couldn't say how long this practical stranger held him for, probably longer than the situation warranted, but he couldn't deny that he felt better by the time the man relaxed his hold. He couldn't remember being given that kind of hug before, so it had felt strange. Very comforting, but very strange. "Are you feeling any better now Charlie?" the soft, concerned tones of the chocolate maker came to him, lifting his eyes up to such compassionate blue eyes.

Charlie simply shrugged, until a raised eyebrow demanded a verbal answer. "I guess I'm feeling bewildered." The boy admitted. "I don't know why you wanted to see me, I don't know why you're not shouting at me for my presumption, I don't know why I was crying, and I don't know what my grandparents are thinking. They must be worried sick!" he exclaimed.

With a light chuckle, and a gentle squeeze of his shoulders, Wonka replied. "Well, I think we can remedy the last mentioned quite quickly, if you tell us where you live?" Charlie looked up into his eyes. Dare he trust the man? Eventually reasoning that he was stuck in the factory for the moment, and the longer he delayed, the longer his grandparents would be left to worry, he decided that it was best to tell the man.

"Oh! That's easy!" he exclaimed. "You just go round the back of the factory – we're in the first shack you come to, just round the corner." James hid his grimace of distaste. He knew those houses well, and he wouldn't wish anyone to live there. "Well, if you give me a moment Charlie, I'll write a note, and James here can take it round to your grandparents while I explain a little more about why I wanted to invite you in here. How does that sound?"

Charlie simply nodded at the man. Did he have a choice here? So Willy quickly scribbled a note, and signed it with his distinctive signature. Charlie spoke up as he left. "My grandparents are all bedridden sir." He informed the man. "You'll find them all in one large double bed, in the middle of the room." He finished his explanation. Wilkenson thanked him for the information, and was soon off.

Meanwhile Willy continued trying to make the boy feel more at ease. "Come, you must see the way your ideas are progressing in the factory Charlie." He informed the boy. "We all loved your ideas, and now the Christmas rush is mostly over, we've finally got the time to put them into action.

Soon Willy was leading him to the various rooms where his pictures were displayed. Stopping outside the cellophane caterpillar room Willy paused for a little more explanation. "The Oompa Loompa's particularly love this room. If there's one job they cannot abide, it's putting cellophane on chocolates. Now the caterpillars do that job for them, and they love it!" Charlie found himself laughing. "Really Mr Wonka sir?" he asked.

Wonka looked at him sternly. "Charlie, would you agree that I've invited you inside my home here/" he asked the boy. Charlie considered that for a moment. "Um… Yes sir?" he questioned. "Do you therefore maybe think that I may not choose to be called "Mr" or "Sir" inside my home…" Charlie looked at him in confusion. "But what am I supposed to call you then Mr… Er, Sir… Er…" With a gentle laugh, Wonka clapped him on the shoulder. "'Wonka' should do it, if you'd not feel comfortable calling me 'Willy' that is." The expression on Charlie's face quickly convinced him that this was a 'no go'.

Eventually Willy had shown him all the rooms, thrilling Charlie that his ideas had so quickly been incorporated into factory life. He'd even met one or two of the Oompa Loompa's and heard how taken they were with the ideas.

Finally, he felt he really ought to go home. However, before he left, he was still due the man an apology. "Wonka… I've had a wonderful time here today, really. I need to go home now, but I can't until I've apologised for that last picture. It was horribly presumptuous of me to draw it, never mind actually send it."

Wonka looked at him in horror. "Did you not actually see that one Charlie? It was my favourite out of them all. I even had one of the Oompa Loompa's copy it so I could have one in my office, and one in my sitting room at home. I love looking at it Charlie, because I hope that one day we can become that close."

Then Mr Wonka showed him the picture in his office, and sat Charlie down on one of the half stools, to tell him why he had come up with the golden ticket idea in the first place.

"You see Charlie, I'm not getting any younger. Much as I'd love to be able to invent a candy that would make it so, it just doesn't happen. When I have to retire, I need someone to leave the factory to – someone who loves candy as much as I do, but who would also care for the Oompa Loompa's.

"I wondered if such a person could actually exist, but reasoned there had to be. There are so many people in the world, an there was one person who cared about a reclusive candy man so much that they took the time to make and hand deliver him a Christmas card every year.

"Not knowing who this person was, not even having a first name, I decided to try and locate them by having a golden ticket contest. Of course, you know what a fiasco that turned out to be!" he finished with a wry smile. "There was someone else I thought about when it came to the factory, a young boy who passed by on his way home from school each day. He would linger at the front gate, and looked at the factory with such longing in his gaze, and yet, no matter how much candy I left there for him to pick up, he never touched it. And he never found one of the tickets either.

"Ticket season over, and James and I had to turn back to making candy for Christmas, but we never gave up hope that one day we'd be able to make contact with one of the two people who had reached out and touched our hearts without even knowing it. And finally, your last set of pictures gave us a name, and helped us to understand that both our artist and our young boy were the same person. And finally James managed to find you.

"I don't think you can ever know how much a stranger can mean to you until you actually experience it like we have done." Willy explained. "That's why we invited you in here, and that's why I want to make this picture of yours a reality for both of us." Then he paused, and slowly went down onto his knee, as if he were about to propose. In a way, he was – this was as important to him as a proposal.

"Charlie, would you accept the prize I never offered any of those who found a golden ticket. Would you be willing to become my apprentice?"

Neither of them knew that one of the Oompa Loompa's was standing right outside the office door with a camera, and the moment that Charlie flung himself into Willy's arms was immortalised in a photograph that looked amazingly similar to the scene that Charlie had imagined in coloured pencils. There was a long way for them to go, but at last a way forwards had been found.

On this occasion, Charlie had the last words. "And all the time, I was living so close, right around the back of the factory." To this, Willy could only smile, and hug the boy closer.


End file.
